My Sister's Grave (Tracy Crosswhite, #1)(69)

House broke his gaze when the clerk entered and commanded the room to rise. Judge Meyers resumed his seat, and day two was underway.

“Mr. O’Leary, you may continue,” Meyers said.

Dan called Bob Fitzsimmons to the stand. Twenty years earlier, Fitzsimmons had been the managing partner of the company that entered into contracts with the State of Washington to construct three hydroelectric dams across the Cascade River, including Cascade Falls. Though now retired and in his seventies, Fitzsimmons looked as if he’d just stepped from the board meeting of a Fortune 500 company. He had a healthy head of silver hair and wore a pin-striped suit and lavender tie.

In short order, O’Leary had Fitzsimmons explain the process of obtaining the necessary federal and state paperwork to build the dams, a public process covered in the local newspapers.

“Naturally the dam backed up the river,” Fitzsimmons said, legs crossed. “You need to create a ready source of water in the event of a drought.”

“And what was the ready source of water for Cascade Falls?” O’Leary asked.

“Cascade Lake,” Fitzsimmons said.

O’Leary used two diagrams to compare the size of Cascade Lake before the dam went online and after the area had flooded. The increased area included the location where Calloway had put an X to signify where Sarah’s body had eventually been discovered.

“And when did that area flood?” O’Leary asked.

“October 12, 1993,” Fitzsimmons said.

“And was that date public knowledge?” O’Leary asked.

Fitzsimmons nodded. “We made sure it was in all the newspapers and the local broadcasts. It was a state mandate and we did more than the state required.”

“Why was that?”

“Because people hunted and hiked in that area. You didn’t want anyone trapped out there when the water came.”

O’Leary sat. Clark approached. “Mr. Fitzsimmons, did your company do anything else to ensure no one was ‘trapped out there when the water came,’ as you put it?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

“Didn’t you also hire security personnel and put up roadblocks to keep people out of that area?”

“We did that several days before the plant went online.”

“So it would have been extremely difficult for anyone to have entered that area, wouldn’t it?”

“That was the intent.”

“Did any of your security people report seeing anyone trying to enter the area?”

“Not that I recall.”

“No reports of someone carrying a body down a trail?”

Dan objected. “The prosecutor is testifying, Your Honor.”

Clark shot back, “Your Honor, that is exactly the insinuation being made here.”

Meyers raised a hand. “I’ll rule on the objections, Mr. Clark. The objection is overruled.”

“Did you receive any reports of anyone carrying a body down a trail?” Clark asked.

“No,” Fitzsimmons said.

Clark sat.

O’Leary stood. “How big an area is this?” He used the diagram to note the flooded area.

Fitzsimmons frowned. “My recollection is the lake was about two thousand five hundred acres and closer to four thousand five hundred after we went online.”

“And how many trails cut across that area?”

Fitzsimmons smiled and shook his head. “Far too many for me to know.”

“You put up roadblocks and posted security on the main roads, but you couldn’t possibly have covered every point of ingress and egress, could you?”

“No way to do that,” Fitzsimmons said.



O’Leary followed Fitzsimmons with Vern Downie, the man James Crosswhite had specifically enlisted to lead the search for Sarah in the hills above Cedar Grove because Vern knew those hills better than anyone. Tracy and her friends used to joke that Vern, with his thinning hair and five o’clock shadow on a craggy face, would have been a hit in horror movies, especially with a voice that rarely rose above a whisper.

In the intervening twenty years, Vern looked to have forsaken shaving altogether. His gray-and-silver beard started just a few inches below his eyes, obscured his neck, and extended nearly to his chest. He wore fresh blue jeans, a belt with a silver, oval-shaped buckle, boots, and a flannel shirt. For Vern, this was church attire. His wife sat in the first row for moral support, as she had at the trial. Tracy recalled that Vern wasn’t much for public anything, particularly public speaking.

“Mr. Downie, you’re going to have to speak up to be heard,” Meyers cautioned, after Vern whispered his name and address. Perhaps sensing Vern’s anxiety, Dan eased him into his testimony with some background questions before getting to the substance of his examination.

“How many days did you search?” O’Leary asked.

Vern stuck out his lips and pinched them. His face scrunched with thought. “We were out there every day for the week,” he said. “After that we went out couple times a week, usually after work. That was maybe a few more weeks. Until the area flooded.”

“How many people were involved in the search initially?”

Vern looked to the gallery. “How many people in this room?”

Dan let the answer stand. It was the first light moment in two days.